Epilogue: Ismira
by OhDearNotAgain
Summary: IF YOU HAVE NOT READ INHERITANCE, DO NOT READ THIS. SPOILERS!  The story of Roran and Katrina's daughter, Ismira.  I do not own the Inheritance Cycle.
1. Chapter 1: Ismira

Epilogue: Ismira

Roran stood up, the sun burning the tanned skin of his back. He ran a hand through his brown hair, and plucked at a silver strand that fell in front of his eyes. He sighed wearily, allowing the hair to drift to the ground.

So it seemed nobody could escape the ravages of time. Already his face was creased, his back ached with the hours of ploughing. And now he had grey hair. Another sigh escaped his lips, and his son, Armand, looked over.

"Father?" he asked, concerned. "Are you alright?"

The eldest, Garrow, stopped leading the horse, Plod. He frowned, worried about his Father's slow and depressed attitude he'd recently been displaying.

"Dad?" he said, his voice low. "What's wrong?"

Roran took a deep breath, and managed to stretch his face into a smile. He laugh was strained, and the two boys noticed the lie immediately.

"Father..." they said, in unison.

Roran waved his hands, dropping the plough. "It's nothing, really. Let's just get this done before the day is out."

Both boys knew better than to challenge their Father, or to keep pestering him, so they obeyed, though both felt more tense than before. Roran watched from the corner of his eye. Garrow's tall, slim frame lope across the field, pulling the horse along gently. He was all Katrina, his hair was the same gingery-brown colour, like shining copper. However, the younger, Armand, was the spitting image of Roran. Stocky and muscular, the boy wanted to be a blacksmith, and had the strong arms to prove it.

Roran smiled, he'd always thought the best way to become immortal was to leave behind a legacy, and he had five. He almost laughed to himself, all of his children were talented, and in his eyes, beautiful. His youngest, Yara, a bouncing baby of two, gurgled at flowers and laughed at the sky, constantly happy. Her blue eyes could stare at you for hours, she observed patiently, always smiling. Then there was Cole, a rambunctious lad of twelve, constantly in the woods, with his bow. He never caught anything, and when he was disheartened, Roran would tell him how his Uncle had found a dragon egg when he was hunting in those very woods.

Then came the twins, Armand and Garrow. Garrow was the elder, by a total of eleven minutes. Roran remembered his surprise when he entered the birthing room, and found Birgit holding two babies instead of one.

And his first, his beautiful Ismira. Her hair was the colour of the leaves in autumn, a healthy glow of oranges and reds. She was quiet, and sensible, but would become fierce and stubborn when it came to what she believed in. Roran chuckled; she was the ideal mix of himself and Katrina.

He began his ploughing, and was just getting into his rhythm when Armand straightened his back and looked towards the gate into their land. Roran turned, curious and, thanks to his years of fighting, wary. A group of dazzling white horses entered, carrying men and women dressed in glittering silver armour. Roran's shoulders relaxed. They were elves.

"Go find your Mother," he told the boys. "Tell her we have guests."

The elves readily accepted their invitation to stay, as was their duty they were travelling with a dragon egg around Alagaesia, before its return to Ellesmera or Iliria. Roran knew two of the elves personally. Vyran and Rhía were both friends of his, from his visit to the elven capital. Both had long white hair, and were good, honest people.

Katrina served the vegetable soup, conscious of the guests' diets. They thanked her readily, and the children eyed them curiously over the table, eating slowly, and occasionally dropping food down themselves.

"For the love of-," Katrina sighed. "Armand, you're almost sixteen! The food goes in your mouth, not on your tunic!"

Armand blushed scarlet as his Mother tried to clean him up. He pushed her away, and his siblings began to chuckle. Roran scanned the faces around the oak table, and sighed, putting down his spoon.

"Where is your sister?" he asked.

The boys all looked to Yara, who was gurgling in her own chair. The baby blew some bubbles out of her mouth.

Cole snapped his fingers. "I know! She went to pick flowers!"

"That was over an hour ago," Katrina frowned, looking at the setting sun out of the window. "Roran, go and get her."

Grumbling, Roran left the table, snatching a cloak from a hook before exiting the house. He heard the door shut behind him, and snuggled down inside the woollen material. Where was that girl? She had a mind of her own, and went wandering about wherever she pleased. Roran paused in mid-step, he'd forgotten to bring a lantern, the sun was setting rapidly and soon he'd be too far from the house to see where he was.

"Ismira?" he called out, hearing his voice bounce off the mountains that stood so close to his home.

A low, sad melody reached his ears as he carried on, tramping over the newly ploughed fields.

_Of course,_ Roran thought, _she'll be in the meadow_.

He sprinted up a hill, and over the other side was a wide field, full of colourful, wild flowers. In the middle sat the girl, humming to herself and caressing the blossoms around her. He couldn't help but smile. She was always humming to herself, her thoughts amongst the stars.

"Ismira!" his voice was deep and threatening. "Get over here, now!"

The girl jumped, and her brown eyes met his with shock. She paled slightly, now noticing the rapidly darkening sky. Biting her lip, she rushed to him, her hands empty.

"I thought you were picking flowers?" Roran frowned, his eyebrows high.

"Oh, Papa!" she exclaimed. "No! How could you pick flowers?"

Her accusing tone made him check himself. He shook the thoughts from his head, he wasn't the one being scolded, _she_ was.

"Get back home," he pushed her forwards. "Your Mother's worried sick!"

Ismira's expression turned to that of dismay, and she rushed towards the house, its windows alight with the flickering flames of candles. Roran watched her knock hesitantly at the door, and Katrina's wagging finger came outside of the frame. The two silhouettes disappeared inside, leaving the door open for him.

Upon reaching the house, Roran saw the two elves in the living room, sitting on the floor by the fire, in a circle with the children. In the middle sat the dragon egg, a beautiful silver-white colour, glowing in the warmth of the fire.

The elves were explaining about dragons, and Cole peppered them with questions.

"If you keep interrupting," Armand said, his brow creased into a frown. "Then you won't know the answers."

Cole stuck out his tongue at his brother, who made a grab for him. The elves watched, amused, as the two boys rushed around the room, Armand trying to catch Cole, and Cole continuously evading his brother's strong arms. Garrow also got to his feet, trying to calm the situation.

"Guys! We have guests!" he said, his voice quiet compared to the racket coming from his brothers.

Yara gurgled happily from Rhía's lap, and waved her pudgy hands at the ruckus.

"Dadada!" she laughed, squeezing her fingers into fists at Roran's arrival.

Roran leant against the doorframe, hoping his face looked angry. Ismira looked up at him, hearing Yara's warning. She opened her mouth to warn the boys, but Roran shook his head ever so slightly. She obeyed, and continued to ask Vyran about the dragons.

Deciding that play-time was over, Roran cleared his throat loudly.

The boys came to halt, and all fell over each other, blushing scarlet. A torrent of excuses flooded Roran's ears, and he held up his hands to silence them.

"That's enough," he said sternly, and was pleased to see his sons look at the floor in shame. "Go to bed, all of you. If you behave like children, you'll go to bed the same time as Yara!"

The baby cooed at the sound of her name, and Rhía laughed at her; a happy, tinkling sound.  
>The boys traipsed out of the room, and Roran turned his attention back tot he inhabitants of the room. Ismira was examining the egg, Vyran didn't see any problem with her holding it.<br>Roran felt his gut twist as Ismira became entranced with the white egg, he was reminded painfully of Eragon, who hadn't returned to see him in almost two decades. He felt sad that his children should not know their Uncle, and he rubbed his brow with the weight of his thoughts.

"It's so warm," Ismira observed, before handing the egg back to the elf. "And beautiful."

Vyran nodded. "It is our duty to make sure it finds its rider. It can take years, but Rhía and I have years to spare."

Ismira smiled, her eyes lingering of the diamond-hard shell. Roran felt a strange protectiveness grow over him, and decided to conquer it by seeking the arms of his wife.

Katrina welcomed Roran to her, but sensed his weariness and worry. Her husband had grown old so quickly, he was still an influencial member of Queen Nasuada's court, no matter how many times he'd begged her just to let him be the simple farmer he'd always wanted to be.

"You can not ever be a simple farmer, Roran," she'd said. "You have too much to live up to, your legacy pushes you forward."

Katrina smiled as Roran's hands ran up and down her back. "What worries you?" she asked.

"Nothing," Roran answered, his voice muffled by her shoulder. "I'm fine."

"Liar," Katrina whispered softly, but left the matter be.

She watched as one by one, the house slowly went to bed, climbing the wooden stairs to the second floor of her home. It was the largest and most impressive house in all of Carvahall, and she was a proud wife and Mother.

"Goodnight, Mother," Ismira whispered, she was the last to seek the refuge of sleep.

Katrina kissed her forehead, and watched the young woman climb the stairs. She would most likely be married soon. And what with the family being so prominent at court, it might not be a farm-boy either. Sighing, Katrina understood Roran's troubles, but pushed them from her mind. She had too much to do to worry about that now.


	2. Chapter 2: The Riders

Hey Guys, sorry for such a slow beginning, but things'll be moving a bit faster for now! My first story, so don't be too harsh on me! :D Here it is, anyway:

Epilogue: Ismira – Chapter 2

Ismira crept across the landing. The steady breathing of their guests was light and whispery, and she pushed against the door gently. The egg sat on the floor, the moonlight from outside the window bounced off of the impenetrable shell. 

The elves remained silent in sleep, and her feet made no sound on the floorboards. Ismira paused, wanting to look at the sleeping elves. But she picked up the egg, and carried it downstairs, where the fire was smouldering gently, and red embers were glowing with heat.

Ismira watched the egg for hours, she was entranced by its beauty. However, her eyelids began to droop, and she felt herself drift in and out of sleep. Her dreams were bland and dull, to her they lasted for years.

Her eyes fluttered open, and she frowned. There were shards of china on the floor. Had Cole been in the cupboards again?

A mewling sound distracted her thoughts. A cat? No, a cat wouldn't scratch the stone floor with its claws. Ismira looked around sleepily, rubbing her eyes to clear them. Nothing out of the ordinary. Chairs, table, books, fireplace, dragon, cot... DRAGON?

Scrambling up from her seat on the rug, watched the little creature ruffle it's scales, throwing white specks of light onto the walls and ceiling. She had to get rid of it, say the egg was stolen... She reached forward gently, making cooing noises like she would to Yara, and rubbing her fingertips as if she had food in her hand.

The dragon approached easily enough, and Ismira reached out to grab it.

Her fingers touched the pure white scales, and a shock ran through her body, filling her with cold and heat at the same time. Paralysed, she laid on the floor, too scared and in too much shock to see if she could move.

_This must be what a lightning strike feels like_, she mused absently. _I wonder if I died..._

A nudge as her hand made her jump. She sat up, eyeing the dragon warily. It nudged her hand again, and Ismira absently scratched its scaly head. She breathed deeply. Her parents were going to kill her. Literally. They were going to chop off her head, or maybe her Father would smash it with his hammer. Groaning, she pressed her head to the floor.

A tug on her hair made her look up. A small amber eye looked at her quizzically, and blinked twice.

"Why me?" she whispered.

The dragon blinked again, and crawled into her lap. Ismira stared at it, not noticing the heavy footsteps tramping down the stairs.

Her Father was talking loudly to her Mother, both were laughing at something Yara had done while sleeping. Roran let out his booming laugh, and scanned his surroundings.

Ismira wished she was invisible, as her Father's eyes locked onto her and the squalling dragon in her lap. She made a move to hide it when her Father began to walk towards her, his feet slow and quiet.

Katrina gasped, pressing her hands to her mouth. She reached out for Roran's shoulder, but the man shook her off. He looked down at his daughter, his face contorted with pain.

"What have you done?" he whispered.

Ismira eyed the solemn faces around her. The family and the village had been assembled, unsure of what to do with the dragon. And her. The elves were demanding she go to the home of the Riders, where she would be taught magic, how to fight, and how to keep the peace of Alagaesia.

Ismira watched, in the sky flew two colourful dots. One was a deep purple, the other a rich brown. The dragons swept down, smoke blowing from their nostrils. Their riders sat on flexible leather saddles, they grinned as they saw her and the little white dragon.

"Barely hatched," one man said, Ismira noticed his pointed ears, and white hair. An elf.

"You sure are efficient," the other grinned to the elves, who twisted their hands as signs of respect.

Ismira watched her Father stride forward. Roran's face was creased with pain and worry, his hand sat on the hammer in his belt. The Riders eyed him warily, and bowed.

"Stronghammer," they said, respectfully.

Roran growled. "You're not taking her."

The two Riders looked to one another. Ismira noticed that the elf slowly reached for the pommel of his sword, the same brown as his dragon. Her eyes flickered back to her Father. The dragon seemed to sense her panic, and flew into her arms. She hugged it protectively.

"Father," Garrow murmured, reaching for his Father's shoulder. "Don't-"

"We won't force her," the second Rider frowned. "It is Ismira's decision, and hers alone."

Roran took out his hammer. "I am her Father!"

The elf drew his sword as the hammer swung towards the other Rider. Not a single silver hair out of place, he muttered something, and Ismira watched her Father fly backwards, landing in the dirt.

"It pains me to see such a strong and noble warrior this way," said the man. "But she must decide."

Ismira felt everyone looking at her. The dragon in her arms purred like a cat, nestling into her warm arms. She turned to her Mother, who looked sad.

"Mother?" she asked.

Katrina forced a smile. "Ismira, we always knew you'd do great things. This choice is yours."

Ismira looked at her siblings. They were huddled together, and Yara sat in Armand's arms, waving her pudgy fists in the air. She gurgled happily, blowing bubbles.

Looking at the little dragon in her arms, Ismira felt a strange sense of longing and love for the small creature. She smiled wryly.

"I'll come back," she said slowly. "Won't I?"

"It is a common occurrence," the Rider agreed. "Once the dragon is big enough, they'll be able to fly you back here."

"It will take but a few months for him to grow large enough," the Elven Rider agreed.

Biting her lip, Ismira turned to her family.

"I'll be back," she smiled, before approaching the Rider.

He grinned, and quickly brushed his messy brown hair back with his hand, flashing an odd scar on the palm. Ismira checked her own. The scar of the Riders, the _Gedwey Ignasia_. She looked at it for a while, becoming entranced by the odd pattern.

"Ready?" he asked. "Freya, give us a hand."

His dragon, a deep purple creature who was a large as Ismira's house, got down low on the ground, her big violet eyes watching them, blinking slowly.

Ismira clambered up the side of the dragon, her own curled around her neck. The creature called out to the larger of its species, and Freya grumbled her own reply. The small white dragon fluttered over onto the saddle, mewing at its elder.

"Ismira!" Roran had returned to his feet, his hammer laying discarded in the dirt. "Ismira, I-"

"Don't worry!" Ismira laughed, being helped into the saddle by the elven Rider. "I'll be alright."

Roran smiled sadly. "Well... Say Hello to your Uncle for me."

Ismira laughed, and blew him a kiss. She did the same to her Mother and siblings. "You're in charge now, Garrow!"

Garrow looked like he was about to burst into tears. He nodded, and squeezed Cole's shoulders. The younger began to bawl his eyes out, and hung onto his brother's waist. Armand watched sadly, making Yara wave. The baby enjoyed the game, laughing.

"I'll be back!" Ismira called back. "I promise! I love you!"

Her message was lost to the wind as Freya took off, soaring upwards into the cloudy sky.

**Okay, so that's all for today. I suppose. I need to get this story going, so I'll be working on it now. :3 Adios!


	3. Chapter 3: Sparring

**Chapter 3! Thanks to my friends who are so supportive, you guys are epic! Especially you, Tori, who reads this even though she hasn't read Inheritance. You fool ;) Anyway, let's meet some dragons!**

Ismira shivered, even under her cloak. The white dragon slept peacefully on her lap, twitching due to its colourful dreams. She felt her own eyes droop, the view was spectacular, but she just couldn't stay awake. Sitting still for so long made her legs numb, and her back ache.

Gaeden, the elf, and his Dragon, Míthriel, flew above her, to the left. The elf was laying against one of the large spikes that came from the brown dragon's back. The colour of her scales was rich and soft, the light reflected off them in a wave of chocolate froth.

Tyran, the rider who was sitting behind her, brought out a small whistle, and began to play a lonely tune that made Ismira's hair stand on end. The white dragon twisted in its sleep, yawning as it did so. Ismira smiled down at it, and a big amber eye flickered open.

It mewed happily, and began to clamber about on top of Freya, whose body rumbled at the sensation of the small claws prickling along her back. She shivered, a shuddering movement which made Ismira almost lose her balance. Tyran gripped her shoulder, and she was glad her legs were buckled onto the saddle.

"Come here," she called, beckoning her own dragon.

The creature blinked at her, but willingly returned to the warmth of her lap. Tyran chuckled.

"He likes you," he grinned.

The dragon looked at him, and blinked once again. Ismira scratched the back of its head, thoughtfully. How could such a tiny thing be such a nuisance? But she loved it, of that much she was certain. A bond had been forged between them, when and how she didn't know.

As if it was tuned into her thoughts, the dragon rubbed its head on her arm, purring. Ismira smiled.

The sun began to set, it was a slow, yet beautiful process. The white clouds became orange and red, and the blue sky slowly faded into a soft pink. Ismira reached out at a cloud that floated above her head.

She hissed, and withdrew her hand rapidly.

"It's cold!" she exclaimed, examining her wet arm.

Tyran grinned. "Of course, clouds are made of water."

Ismira blinked at him. "Since when?"

"Forever," he laughed.

Gaeden looked down at them from Míthril's back. The brown dragon span over a cloud that blocked her path, preventing her Rider from getting wet. Gaeden stroked her gently, and the dragon answered by puffing out a small orange flame.

"Wow," Ismira watched, fascinated. "Can Freya do that?"

The dragon proved that she could, and the dark flames poured from her jaw. Ismira blinked at the heat of it, and shielded her eyes with her arms. Tyran squished his thighs against her and the dragon, nearly loosing his balance due to the heat.

Ismira blushed. The dragon in her lap looked at her curiously, before trying to puff out some fire aswell. Tyran and Gaeden laughed, and the two dragons also chuckled at the behaviour of the hatchling.

"Is something wrong with it?" Ismira asked, picking up the scaly reptile.

"Dragons have to be about eight months before they can breathe fire," Tyran explained. "Yours has some way to go, first."

Ismira stroked the little dragon on her lap, who was now sulking. She felt Freya begin to descend, and gripped onto a spike in front of her.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"We'll be resting for now," Tyran explained. "There's a small refuge for Riders near here. Not many use it, as we're pretty much in the wilderness right now."

Ismira didn't answer; she was too busy gripping the spine ahead of her with her right hand, and the little dragon on her lap with the left. Freya swooped down, and before she hit the dusty ground, fanned out her wings.

Her stomach lurching, Ismira opened her eyes, and was relieved to find they were safely on the ground. She watched Tyran unbuckle her legs, and he leant her a hand to aid her descent. Gaeden stood next to Míthriel, stroking her head with the aid of a blue, swirling, orb of light. Ismira watched it, entranced.

"Magic," she whispered.

"Over here!" Tyran waved.

Ismira looked over, and saw a large building, made of wood with a thatched roof. A small stone wall surrounded it, and the ground surrounding the hut was paved. The hut was huge. Absolutely enormous. Tyran beckoned her forward, and tugged at her hand.

"Come on," he grinned. "Look at this."

Ismira reached for her dragon, who squeaked after her and fluttered its wings, zipping through the air.

Tyran dragged her inside. "Look at this."

Ismira laughed. "Oh, wow!"

Three large nests, made of fine straw and blankets, for dragons. Freya pushed in through the doorway and snuggled into one of the beds. Ismira noticed the hammocks that hung from the ceiling.

"Riders sleep with their dragons," she smiled. "This is brilliant."

"Isn't it?" Tyran grinned, before jumping into his hammock.

Gaeden soon joined them with Míthriel. The elf surveyed his friend critically, and sighed; obviously Tyran was this excitable all the time.

Ismira sat on a hammock with her own dragon, and observed the others as they went on their way. It seemed to her that Gaeden did most of the work, he unpacked the supplies and built the fire. He used magic to get water from the earth itself, and he did this thing called scrying.

"What do you do?" Ismira asked, kneeling next to him.

He had put some water in a plain wooden bowl. The elf smiled at her. "We use magic to contact our friends, and teachers."

He'd spoken some strange words, and Ismira watched with shock as a face appeared in the water's reflection, replacing a rippling image of Gaeden.

"Ah, you have found her," a pleased tone came from the image in the water. "Good job. I suppose Tyran is sleeping?"

"You suppose right, Master," Gaeden couldn't help but smile.

"Excellent. We'll be expecting you by tomorrow afternoon, then?"

"Indeed. We are by the sea now, it should not take much longer to reach the city."

"Well done, Gaeden. I look forward to meeting our new Rider."

The image shimmered and disappeared. Gaeden smiled, and sat back on his heels.

"Would you like to spar?" he asked her.

Ismira blinked. "Spar?"

"Yes, duel, with blades," Gaeden explained, reaching for his pack, and bringing out two swords. "Don't worry, I'll blunt the blades with magic."

Ismira watched him do so, and accepted a sword warily. "I'm afraid I don't know what to do."

Tyran snorted from his hammock. Gaeden shot a glare at him. Ismira blushed, and the white dragon rubbed his snout against her ankles.

"Ignore Tyran," Gaeden commanded. "He's an idiot."

"Hey!"

"Put your feet like this," Gaeden made Ismira imitate his stance.

Ismira stood, and copied his feet and posture. She raised the sword, slightly afraid of the weapon. Gaeden nodded encouragingly. Ismira smiled, nervous.

Tyran watched from his hammock as the elf instructed the girl on how to swing the weapon, block weapons using the weapon, and various different moves involving the weapon. He observed patiently from this vantage point until he was bored. Tyran chewed on his cheek, and he felt Freya's consciousness brush against his, disapproving.

_Before you challenge anyone_, she frowned,_ allow the girl some time to learn. You are the most impatient human I've ever met_.

_And you're the most stubborn dragon_, he countered.

He sensed her reproachful mood at his comment, and he felt guilty.

_Sorry, _he apologised. _I'm bored._

_I know_.

Tyran watched Ismira spin, slashing at Gaeden. The girl was graceful in her techniques, he gave her that. The dragons watched calmly, observing the teaching.

"I think I get it," Ismira slowed, following Gaeden's instructions.

"Don't slow down," Gaeden ordered. "I'd have stabbed you by now."

Ismira blinked. "Oh."

Gaeden heard Tyran laugh from his hammock. He picked up a stone from the floor, and flung it at the boy. His sharp ears heard the stone connect with Tyran's body, and a yelp came from the corner.

"That hurt!" he exclaimed.

Ismira watched as the two of them began to argue, Tyran blushing furiously and gesturing wildly, whereas Gaeden remained composed and still, save the pink that rose to his cheeks. Ismira caught the dragon that flew at her, growling at the show of anger from the human.

"We should rest," Gaeden stopped the argument with an impatient wave of his hand. "We have many miles to journey tomorrow. Master wants us back by the afternoon."

"Afternoon?" Tyran objected.

Gaeden shrugged at him, and retreated to the bunk nearest Míthriel. Ismira copied, and as she rested her eyes, felt a small mind brush against her own thoughts. Her eyes snapped open, and she saw the amber iris of her dragon looking at her. It mewed at her once again.

"Good night," she whispered, holding it close to her.

The sky overhead darkened, and millions of stars sparkled into existence, watched the cold, dark world beneath them, of which Alagaesia was a tiny part.

***Okay, that's about it for today. Please review, I've got to think of a name for the Island the Dragon Riders live on. Thanks again, guys! ***


End file.
